


A Fly in the System

by tryslora



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Community: fullmoon_ficlet, Gen, Hacking, Spoilers, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-09
Updated: 2014-02-09
Packaged: 2018-01-11 18:38:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1176517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tryslora/pseuds/tryslora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jackson just wants to know what’s going on back home. He gets more than he bargained for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Fly in the System

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written for prompt #55 -- Fly on the Wall at fullmoon_ficlet.
> 
> The story contains spoilers through episode 3x15 -- "Illuminate".
> 
> The title is a silly cross between “A Fly on the Wall’ and “A Bug in the System”. I tried to cut words to get below 1k and instead it grew by 15 very necessary words. *sighs* This started out silly, then twisted serious in ways I wasn’t expecting. Oops? As always, I do not own the world or characters of Teen Wolf, I just like to play with them.

It’s not a hack that takes a lot of talent.

In fact, Danny taught him how to do it in five minutes flat. Ten, if you count the time it took Jackson to take notes and test it out at least once.

And yeah, it’s unethical.

_Completely_ unethical.

But this is Jackson, and he just wants to know what’s going on back home, and no one seems willing to tell him the truth. Lydia talks about Scott all the time (are they banging? they must be fucking like bunnies for all the times his name comes up in conversation). Danny’s got this new guy, and there was something with a hospital; Jackson’s fuzzy on the details.

No one seems willing to just sit down and tell him _everything_ , so who can blame him for peeking in a little? Just a few times. Once, maybe twice.

It’s their own faults for not protecting their laptops.

He starts with Lydia, waking up the small piece of code that was dropped on her laptop. Her webcam comes to life, and her room snaps into focus, sound burbling through the speakers of Jackson’s computer. He can’t see her immediately, but he can hear her.

“I mean, what was he thinking? Stupid idiot thinks that just because he is six foot of solid muscle that I—” Her voice stops as she comes into view. She looks like she’s ready for bed, wrapped in a fluffy pink bathrobe that gaps over one shoulder where she holds the phone wedged between shoulder and ear. A faint frown mars her forehead, and bright red lips purse as she leans forward, almost too close to the camera for resolution.

“What?” She pulls back. “No, no, everything’s fine. I just left my computer on when I went out earlier, and _something_ is making the drive spin like it’s insane. Give me just a moment while I end it.” She gives the camera a tight smile and shows him her middle finger before the feed goes dark.

She doesn’t know it’s _him_ , of course. It could be anyone, any little perv out there that dropped a backdoor on her system to peek in on her at night.

Jackson knows he’s lying to himself. He’ll probably hear about it tomorrow, but he can ignore the problem until then.

When he taps the icon to link him to Danny’s computer, a message pops up: _I’m not an idiot, Jackson. No, you can not use my own hack against me. Call me on the phone like a normal person._

He rolls his eyes and lets it go. Sure, he’ll call, and Danny will tell him random nonsense that says nothing, and they’ll be back where they started from. Maybe he needs some new friends. Ones that are even better at hacking than Danny. Just to prove to Danny that it can be done.

He hovers over two icons, indecisive for a long moment before he selects Scott. The webcam comes to life on the heels of a low groan from the speakers, and wait, is that _Isaac_ in Scott’s bed? Well, that’s a fucking surprise, both that McCall swings both ways and that Lahey’s actually getting any. It’s also nothing Jackson needs to see; he closes the window quickly.

It’s going to take a lot of mental bleach to rid himself of that image. He’s just glad he doesn’t have to face them in the locker room in the morning.

He touches the remaining icon, half-expecting that it won’t even work. Wouldn’t Stiles think to install safe-guards? But no, it actually launches and opens a window into Stilinski’s room, dimly lit by the light in the hallway through the open door.

“I need to tell someone.”

Jackson can’t see Stiles, but he can hear him, right down to the twisted anguish in his voice.

“I need to tell someone. I need to _tell someone_. But I can’t. Oh God, I can’t. I’m dreaming. I have to be dreaming. This is all just a dream. I’m going to wake up and we’ll be back at Deaton’s office and I’ll be freezing because we’re just _waking up_.” Stiles tumbles into view, falling backwards onto the bed, fingers threaded into his hair. He’s holding on tight enough that Jackson can see the tension and how white his knuckles are, even through his crappy spy-webcam connection.

“Fuck!” Stiles yells, the sound raw and echoing in the small room. His breath is ragged, chest rising and falling in shallow motion. “Wake up wake up _wake up_!!!” He ends on another scream as he sits up, and when his hands drop, there are a few fine strands of hair between his fingers, pulled from his head.

“I tried to kill her,” Stiles whispers. “I told him where to find her. It’s _my fault_ but she… she didn’t die. She got _better_. She’s something _more_ now and I don’t know if it’s good or bad, and I can’t even trust anything I think or see. There are messages. Languages. Codes and secrets locked inside my mind.” His head falls forward, cradled in his hands, elbows leaning on his bent knees as he hangs his head. His laugh is sharp and bitter, wrenched from somewhere deep inside his chest.

“I’m losing my mind.”

Jackson quietly touches the icon, and the screen goes dark. He drags in one long breath while he hunts for his phone and searches for the only contact he trusts right now. He hasn’t spoken with Derek in a long time—not since he got to London, really. But Derek’s still his alpha, and still the one who should be taking care of the pack.

When he hears Derek’s voice answer, something inside of Jackson relaxes. “Don’t ask how I know this, but I do,” he says quietly. “You need to get to Stiles’s house tonight, and you need to help him. He needs you.”

He hangs up the phone, not entirely sure what he was just privy to, but hoping that maybe he’s helped. Maybe a fly on the wall was just what Stiles needed.

Jackson isn’t any closer to knowing what’s actually going on in Beacon Hills, but for the first time in months, he feels like he’s still part of his pack.


End file.
